“He’s a wonderful guy. I’d hoped you’d be happy for me.”
“Why in the hell would I be happy for you? I brought him for me. He is supposed to want me.” Sorry? Clearly that had to have come out wrong.
“Even knowing how I feel about him? You never once voiced an interest in Ben.”
“Open your eyes, Elly. There’s not a girl on campus who doesn’t want to fuck him.”
“So what? You thought you’d throw it in my face?”
“I thought I’d save you the humiliation of wanting someone who could never want you back. But then he pulled that one-eighty, so I thought…”
“What Kel, what did you think?” It challenges me, to keep my voice from cracking, to keep my emotions in check. But she cannot hear how much her words hurt me. I cannot, will not allow it. She doesn’t get to have that power over me. Not today. And it is tough because that damn superpower, that failure, is just waiting to rear its ugly head.
“Well, all right then. If you must know…I thought…I thought he just wanted to try you out. See what it’s like to be with a girl your size.” My mouth falls open, practically drowning me from the spray of water. I cough and grab my head, falling against the wall tiles to stabilize my shaky legs. My eyes burn again, and I want it so badly to be from the stupid shampoo. But the shampoo washed away several sentences ago. How could I not have realized before? Okay, so I thought it, but I’m allowed. It’s my superpower. But Kelly? How could I have been such a fool to think she was ever my friend, even a little?
It’s my turn to answer, but when I do, my voice, the betrayer, comes out shaky and feeble and so, so quiet I almost don’t hear myself. “Sorry to disappoint you,” I tell her, sounding so different from the unaffected Elle I want very much to be. This voice belongs to the girl I left behind in California. I hate it. And I hate her for bringing it back.
“Never pictured Benton as a chubby chaser,” she says coolly. And then I hear the finality of the door click shut.
How did my glorious weekend end up here? Not even a Monday. We skipped Monday. As I slump, still against the chilled tile letting the scalding water pelt my skin, I want to cry. I want to throw up. She’s never spoken to me like that, ever.
Two years of parties and concerts and coffee and study groups. Two years of girl talks and Oreos and shopping. Two years thrown away because something good, someone good finally happened to me. What now? How do we continue to be roommates after such a betrayal? Even if she apologizes for the words, her actions, her motivations behind them, our sisterly trust shattered the moment she cleared her throat.
Back across the hall in my bedroom, I sit on my bed wrapped in my big, fluffy, lavender bathrobe, trying to keep warm and listening for sounds of Kelly in the apartment. She left. After bitch-slapping my life, she doesn’t even have the courtesy to stick around for us to hash the rest out, if there is anything left to hash out.
What happens next seems inevitable considering the universe abso-fricking-lutely despises me, and my action or reaction to what happens next falls right in line. That damn phone on my bedside table lights up, flashing the green face of the Wicked Witch of the West. Cricket. Calling so early in the morning? Why would I answer? Why? But being a glutton for punishment, oh yeah, I answer it.
“Mother?”
“Don’t mother me. Why haven’t you answered my calls?”
“I was busy. I am trying to get an education here.”
“Why do you even try, Elly? You’re just like your father—”
“What do you want?” I cut her off.
“Is that a tone? Don’t take a tone with me. I had to get up at three a.m. to talk to you. Dr. Packard says you’ve stopped checking in. Stopped your video sessions.”
“He can’t tell you that. I’m over eighteen. There are HIPPA laws.”
“Maybe you’re forgetting whose money and insurance got you in there in the first place. Or how much I had to spend to get those videos taken off the web. I knew the day you were born, the spitting image of that man but with blotchy skin, a cone head, and that ugly pug nose, you’d be just as worthless.”
“I’m not worthless, Mom.”
“Now you listen to me, you will start those video sessions back up because I will not go through that humiliation again. Everyone knew what you did. Everyone. People still come up asking about you, judging me. My mother was right. I should’ve had an abortion.”
The shaking started after she hung up, the rocking, the hugging myself tightly because nobody else cares enough to do it, and then the tears spill. They always spill. I don’t want them to. She doesn’t deserve them. Neither of them do. Not Cricket. Not Kelly. But they come, and I’m unable to stop the flow, rocking harder, shielding my head to block out the words seared into my ears. It doesn’t work. And then it’s like I black out, only fully awake, running to the kitchen, to the cupboard where we keep the Oreos. I slide down to the floor in front of the sink, shoving Oreo after Oreo into my mouth, barely even chewing until the pain in my heart finally starts to subside. At the end of the mania I look, actually seeing the half-eaten package in my lap.
“What did I do?” I whisper to no one but the air, brushing the crumbs from my robe as I shove up off the ground and turn to throw the rest of the package away in the trashcan next to the refrigerator. Then I wash my face in the sink. I stopped. I stopped being this girl in California. What would Ben think of his girlfriend now? No one can ever know. He can never know. But at the same time, I’m scared to stay here by myself. The cracks are forming. Ben has strength. I need his strength. Because clearly, I’ve misplaced my own.
The hallway feels a million miles long, even though in reality it maybe takes twenty steps to get from the kitchen back into my bedroom, and only two more to reach my phone. He has no reason to be up, yet, allowing myself to fail at being a girlfriend, I push his number. He answers on the second ring, worry coating his groggy, woken him up from a dead sleep voice.
“Elle? Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Ben,” I speak his name softly, in more of a cry than a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“What? What happened? No, never mind. I’m coming, Brontë. I’ll be there in ten. Why don’t you stay on the line with me?”
“No. I have to get ready.”
“Okay, but you be out there in ten minutes, you hear?” I nod a response he can’t possibly hear and hang up. Failure.
He is coming. He is going to save me. Some of the tiniest fissure lines begin to seal back up. She gave me an opening and doesn’t even know it, a place to focus my energy on besides our fight. A way to keep me in check until he gets here. I use my ritual, taking the calming breaths I need to help me move. Because I only have ten minutes, and all my clothing, every drawer is emptied. Nothing left in the closet. It had to be Kelly. Who takes someone’s clothing? That’s sadistic.
Think. Think. Think. My garment bag, the one I’d taken to Chicago, hadn’t been emptied yet, and if Kelly hadn’t checked it, then I’ll still have a clean bra and clean panties to wear. I’d tucked it far enough under my bed for her not to think about it, thankfully. Not only do I find the undergarments, but the black skinny jeans I’d worn to the concert were in there too. But a shirt? What do I do for that? The ones in the bag just aren’t clean enough to wear.
Inspiration sometimes comes at the strangest times. She took my clothing, I’ll take hers. In Kelly’s bottom dresser drawer, she keeps a gray sweatshirt, plain and way oversized for her. I use the scissors from her sewing kit to cut off all the bands, around the arms, around the bottom, and finally around the collar. Unfortunately, I cut too much from the collar and it drapes off my shoulder. So I steal one of her tank tops, my boobs stretching the fabric beyond what she’d be able to wear again, and then slide back into the sweatshirt. It’s definitely too big. Her belt collection works just fine. I laugh at her as I wrap the thin black belt twice around my waist loosely, letting it drape against my hips. She normally wraps it four times. Of co
urse I slip back into the gladiator booties, which she’d taken back. They’re in her closet. Eight minutes down. Running out of time for primping, I quickly blow out my hair with a simple round brush and dab on a bit of blush, eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. Done. Time is up.
Cell phone.
Backpack.
Car keys.
Coat.
Even with no heat inside, it still feels warmer than the blast of super cooled air hitting my face when I open the door. Ben is already walking halfway up our sidewalk, looking ten kinds of worried. Four remaining steps between us, and I melt against him, reveling for a moment in the comfort just him being here brings me.
Chapter 20
Ben
The words won’t come just yet, and I won’t force them. Taking her hand, we walk back to my Jeep where I open the door for her before climbing back inside myself. It’s damn cold out. I have the heat turned all the way up. I back up out of the parking space while clicking in my seatbelt. Elle’s hands rest on her lap. That won’t do, so I lace our fingers together, bringing them over to mine, driving us to the campus.
Five minutes later and we’re turning into the lot in front of the social science building. She still hasn’t explained what that phone call was about, so I’m not about to drop her off yet. I wish we could go back to Monday. That was a perfect day, skipping. Cuddling under the quilt. She doesn’t seem surprised that I’m not dropping her off anyway, finding a spot halfway back in the parking lot to give us a little privacy.
“Before you ask, we need to talk.”
“I know.”
“What happened, Brontë? You scared the crap out of me.”
“Kelly. She sort of freaked out on me because you and I are dating. She knew how I felt about you, she knew it. But invited you to Chicago anyway. For her. She thought you two would hook up. But then she saw the kissing on YouTube. She called you a chubby chaser, Ben. People think you’re a chubby chaser.”
“What the hell? I don’t care what other people think of me. I care what you think of me. And what you think of you. Baby, you are not chubby. You curve in all the right places. Shit, the way that ass rubbed up against me.” Yes, we’re having a serious conversation, but thinking of those curves rubbed up against me, damn. The smile finds its way to my lips without me meaning it to. Elle. The messed up phone call. Focus, Ben. Focus.
“She stole all my clothing. Except for a couple things in my weekend bag. And then Cricket called.” Cricket. My shoulders slump for her, for her pain, but I stay silent. Because really, what could I say? “Why doesn’t she love me, Ben? I’m her daughter. She’s supposed to love me.”
“I don’t know. I wish, god I wish I could take the pain for you.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“You and me, we don’t make sense. You are so damn gorgeous, and Kelly, she’s drop-dead beautiful. Me, I’m so far from beautiful. I’m the…the other side of beautiful.”
“Not true. And it’s never been true. Those are Cricket’s words. Kelly and I would kill each other, you know it. Anyway, I don’t like how much she drinks. I’m not a fan of people losing control.”
“But—”
“When am I finally going to get through to you? There are no buts. None. Your beauty has always surpassed Kelly’s, and you have a heart she could never hope to have.”
She collapses back in the seat, defeated. How is it that she still doesn’t understand? I’m trying so hard, but this stuff with Cricket is really stretching the edges of my competency. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know the first god damn thing about relationships. Yet here I am trying to navigate us around such a major hurdle. I haven’t dealt with my own parents in years, so who am I to be dispensing advice to my girl about hers? My parents haven’t been contacting me every other day, either.
Shit. “I’m not telling you what to do, and I really have no right to ask, but I’m asking anyway.” I pause, taking in a long breath, then letting it go slowly. Her ritual. She recognizes it, I know she does. “Please don’t talk to Cricket anymore.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Brontë, it always is with blood family. But you deserve more. And Kelly, I’m done with her. You come stay with Col and me. My king size bed has a side with your name on it.”
“You want me to stay with you?”
“I do.”
“But what about Collin?”
“He’ll be fine with it. He’s crazy about you.”
To be honest, I really didn’t think that was going to work. At least not without some major convincing on my part. Getting her to move in with me, she must really be done with Kelly. I’d like to say it’s all just for her, because she needs a stable environment with people who care for her. But she felt so good lying in my arms. I’m selfish. I want her in my bed for me too. So yeah, she totally surprises me when she answers, “Okay.”
With her okay we are totally done talking. Her happiness is all I need to see, all I want to see—that glint of happiness again when she looks at me like I’m her savior. I lean over to kiss the corner of her mouth, then lean back to look at her, and there it is. And so goes another piece of my heart, even if she doesn’t know it. I told her I was willing to lose my heart to her. Guess I’m all in.
“Thank you…” she breathes out, kissing my bottom lip. And then she moves to the top. “For saving me.”
She kneads those delicate hands through my hair, and I tilt my head back to taste her mouth full on. The driver’s side seat slides back as I lift her over the Wrangler’s gear shifter to straddle my lap. The kisses intensify. They really intensify. I move one hand to stroke her neck while one of hers brushes the stubble along my cheek from not having time to shave when I woke up. Her other hand dips inside the waist of my jeans, eliciting a low groan, the sound of which urges her hips to grind slowly against me. My thickness, although only semi-hard at the moment, gets harder with every grind through my jeans. As crazy as she’s driving me, I’m giving it right back, holding her down, rubbing against her most sensitive areas. Elle presses her forehead against my neck, holding on tightly. And I’m willing her to feel what I do, my heart, and not the muscle. Bringing both my hands to her face, I tilt her chin up to look me in the eyes. “Baby, don’t just listen, but hear me. You have to hear me.” She nods. “Kelly has nothing on you, and damn it, I mean it, nothing on you.”
“Too hard,” she says. “It’s too hard to hear those words and look at you.” And she tries to break the firm hold I have on her cheeks. An impossible task, my Brontë averts her eyes instead.
“Elle Dinninger, look at me.” She actually does. I don’t know why she does, maybe the command in my voice, maybe curiosity to hear what I have to say, or maybe, maybe she just wants to believe in someone’s belief in her. That she has worth. That the world is a better place having her in it. Because she has worth. She has so much fucking worth that she doesn’t even realize.
“I know it’s hard for you when Cricket or Callum or Kelly run you down. It’s always easier to believe the bad. But they’re just a few miserable people. Three people. Beautiful, no matter the definition, doesn’t come close to describing you. I don’t think the word has been imagined yet.”
“I don’t deserve you, you know.”
“Brontë, you don’t know what you deserve, but I guaran-fucking-tee it’s more than this. And one day you’re going to believe it.”
Chapter 21
Elle
How many times in my life did I dream of hearing these words? Yet now I’m so afraid I won’t believe them. I read somewhere that penguins mate for life. Many of their rituals follow ours, like a coupled pair will rub their heads and necks together, it’s a sign of love, the first sign actually. One touch starts the bonding process. And they don’t doubt the affection in any way. It just is. Ben has his head resting against my cheek, stroking the long strands of my hair. I press into him, absorbing his heat. If we could only stay right here the rest
of the day. We both know how impossible an idea that is. And then with one last kiss, soft and beautiful, he helps me back over the console.
When we reach the double glass doors, he holds one open for me, staying at my side while we walk the hallway toward my first class of the day. I shrug out of my coat and notice Ben just standing about five steps away, staring at me with his eyes rounded.
“Wow. You look—stunning. You’re just, wow.” A group of four guys walking toward us, talking loudly, totally disrupt the magic of the moment. As they pass, all four heads turn, glaring at me. Ben closes the distance between us, flinging his arm protectively around my shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s get you to class. But maybe you shouldn’t wear this again,” he says, hooking his finger between my bare skin and the spaghetti strap of the tank top.
“I thought you liked it.”
“Clearly I’m not the only one.” I wonder about the penguins. Do they feel what we feel? If so, do they feel it in the same way? The male penguin, he offers the female a pebble or twigs for a nest. Ben offered me a place to stay. All these touches of his only serve to strengthen the bond. Maybe we aren’t so different from those penguins. “So, I was thinking,” Ben says. “Since tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, I’d like to cook dinner for you.”
“Can you make more than waffles?”
He snickers. He actually snickers at me. “Oh, Brontë, there are three things in my life I’ve learned to do really well, and cooking is the third. Just wait.”
“Uh-huh,” my voice squeaks. “I think I’d like that.” Well before I ever want to be, we stop just outside the classroom. “My last class is over at four.”
“I’ll be here, but I can’t hang too long. I’ve got class ‘til eleven today.”
Other Side of Beautiful (A Beautifully Disturbed #1) Page 11